


Seeds of Promise

by HelenaKey



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Banishment, Bisexual Male Character, Character Study, Extended Metaphors, F/M, Family Issues, Fever Dreams, Good versus Evil, Homophobia, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Illnesses, Internal Conflict, Loki-centric, Post-Canon, Social Anxiety, Álfheimr | Alfheim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-19 00:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12399372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenaKey/pseuds/HelenaKey
Summary: Loki escapes to Alfheim to spend the rest of his days. He intends to live a quiet, peaceful life, finally free of the overbearing pressence of his father and brother. He doesn't realize that is in this land of lull and harmony where he would fight his greatest enemy to date - himself.





	Seeds of Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this came out as a surprise for me, if I'm honest. I've never been too much into Loki/Sigyn, even thought the couple doesn't bother me per se. My general take regarding Loki's sexuality is that he is gay, and not necesarilly because I ship him with male characters. However, I can see how someone can dig the idea of Loki finding himself a kind, beautiful and caring girl, because in all seriousness, he needs that sort of thing in his life. That's partly the reason why I wrote this. I couldn't bring myself to go full straight about it, thought, so the Bi tag happened. 
> 
> I had a great time structuring Sigyn's character and I really like the final result. For what I've seen, people normally write her as a powerful sorceress (reaching Loki's level, no less) and as a very wise, highborn lady. I have some problems with this characterization, partly because I think that far from been drawn to her, Loki would be extremely wary of someone who could outmatch him in magic, but also because in my opinion that doesn't make much for charater development. There's no conflict there; it's easy to love someone who shares your interests and who you consider your equal. Someone who is as smart and strong as you are. But, what if the person you love is someone you would normally consider below you? 
> 
> I think that falling for a woman more vulnerable and naive than him could appeal to the humanity Loki claims he doesn't have. He could feel sympathy towards her, despite her being lowborn or simple minded, and eventually learn to direct that sympathy towards others. It'll be a chance to become a better person, to evolve as a character. Once you go through all the denial and conflicted feelings that would come at the beginning, of course. 
> 
> That's what this story is all about, more or less. I don't want to give too much spoilers. I hope you guys enjoy the reading :)

Loki had always known himself to be a wicked man. Pain was an old friend of his; a treacherous sword that had been brandished against him since the early days of childhood, and he took pride in the way he'd reshaped the lingering cuts into a striking talent for cruelty. There was no beauty inside him, but he could allow himself to admire beauty in others - relishing in the titillating shapes of both fine women and brawny men. He found the world he lived in to be charming in its mysterious ways, and often fantasized about the day of its fated demise – wondering at the forces that will bring death upon the Realms, and at the role he would play in their machinations.

He held vivid memories of his youth, but far from treasuring them, he carried them as an unwanted burden on his back. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the wizened face of his father, looking down at him with disappointment, claiming him unworthy of his lands and title, delivering his riches instead to an arrogant, blood-thirsty older brother. He could see the mocking, condescending faces of many acquaintances made throughout the years, unable to hide their satisfaction that day in the Hall of Heroes when, after an insult to his manliness and a refused Holmgang he was pronounced ergui at the sight of the Realms. He was haunted by the tear-stained face of his mother, many centuries ago; when he confessed her that he had yielded to tabooed pleasures, reaveling the rumors of his dark deviances to be truth. 

Loki lived apart from the rest. He was a quiet, malleable entity; forever at war with expectations he was never quite able to fulfill. He tried to make up for his lackings when it came to brute strength and learnt forbbiden castings, earning himself the name of Trickster. He knew it for the mockery it was, and wore it proudly to inspite his offenders. He lost himself in the study of ancient sorceries, in an attempt to satiate his natural curiosity, and to fill the gaping hole that dejection had left in his heart. He avoided his fellow warriors, for instead of inspiring feelings of friendship and comradery in him, they made him feel inadequate and awkward.

This distant, retiring personality won him the attention of dubious characters, and many a strange proposition was offered to him, in light of his bonds to the royal family. He refused some and accepted others, learning the craft of bargaining with the delicate precision of a smith forging his first blade. Peril became a thrill, and Loki found himself befriending dangerous beings in hopes of enhancing his power. He went to bed with ill-famed sorceresses, hoping to unravel their trickery under the promise of pleasure, and nursed his own private cravings by bedding men of little notoriety.

This foul company amused him enough, but didn't serve to placate his loneliness. He was on his own more often than not, and whenever harm came his way he kept it a secret, and took it on his hands to heal his dripping wounds without the help of healers. His attempts at finding glory for himself ended in disaster, and both shame and resentment led him to cut the filial bonds that stopped inspiring him love to become a cause of torment. He turned his back on his father, and callously rejected his mother's love. He seized the throne for himself in numerous occasions, and when his schemes were proved useless before the raw power of his enemies, he entered a strange state of nonchalance and willingly went into exile.

Loki took asylum in Alfheim, a Realm free of war and disquiet, knowing that the kind nature of the elves made them unlikely to carry out acts of vengeance, even if they were made in the All-father’s name. He settled in a small village, far away from the hustle of large cities and the contemptuous presence of noblemen; hoping the secluded cabin that he made for himself in the bordering hills were unappealing enough to keep visitors away. His new home was quiet and humble; the hallways were dimly lit and the wooden floor creaked under his every step, but Loki never cared to repair it. Behind the cabin there was a small lake of shallow waters, which overflowed in nights of storm and dried in hot weather. The dirt path on the front, always deserted, was sometimes crossed by weary travelers and prying youths; none of which were ever allowed inside.

Loneliness led Loki to rushed nuptials, and he married unexpectedly with a young peasant lady. She was careless in her manners, and had an artlessness to her person that provoked unkind feelings in him, but he made the vows anyway – moved by her brutally soft heart. Reluctant to reveal to her the multiple, complicated shades of his character, he kept a respectful distance and was careful not to show his nastier, most gruesome facets. Sigyn was gentle and oddly loyal to him, and in exchange, he treated her with an almost fatherly sweetness. Her kindness was a contagious virtue, and whenever she was with him, Loki found it hard to dwell on violent emotions; his thoughts no longer straying to the fate of the worlds or the liquidation of old rivals. This new sense of concord within him made him both happy and wary, unsure whether he was evolving for the better or mutilating essential parts of his nature.

One afternoon, he led his wife to the back of the cabin under an unadorned pretext, and sat with her on the grass wet with dew to watch the rippling waters of the lake. Loki had hidden a sharp dagger underneath the various layers of his garments, and his fingers itched in anticipation as he waited for the right time to use it. At the sound of chirping birds, and the low, comforting hum of Sigyn's elven songs, his thoughts went adrift and he found himself fantasizing with the quick rush of murder. Briefly, he wondered if a stab would be enough, or if he would have to bring down the knife repeatedly, piercing the softer parts of the flesh with the viciousness he was known for in Odin’s Old Court. Almost instantly, he felt horrified with himself, and was unable to come up with an excuse when Sigyn questioned him about his sudden silence.

That same night, at a late hour, Loki was caught by a strong fever, and was unable to get out of bed for the following weeks. He grew thin and pale, visibly loosing strength, and his skin acquired a sick pallor that made his eyes look unnaturally bright. There was no apparent cause to his disease, and even thought various healers came to the cabin, none was able to determinate the origin of his afflictions. He lost his appetite, and a soreness to his throat kept him from speaking unless necessary. This, and the inability to control his hardwon powers in delirium, was what bothered him the most.

Throughout her husband’s illness, Sigyn sat by his bedside - holding ice cubes to his parched lips for him to quench his thirst, and changing the cold wet handkerchief resting over his forehead every night. She complained little, except to voice her discontet when fever won over Loki's self-control, and he snapped at her unjustly out of desperation. He was often quiet, and she took it on herself to fill the silence. Sometimes, when his ailment subsided and he ventured out of the bed in search for company, Sigyn would sit in the living room to have tea with her husband, and he would tell her about the strange, lurid dreams that haunted his sleep.

One morning, while she slept against the head of the bed, slightly swaying on the chair still keeping her straight, Loki got up unexpectedly, feeling lightheaded and confused, but trembling with the unspent energy stirring inside him. He took a horse and rode from the cabin all the way to the village, passing free and flat country, scented by the sweet smells of rain and wet earth. He stopped the trot of his mount before a seasoned tree, suitable for a nefarious appointment, and sat between its large, welcoming roots, in a feverish attempt to call on the spirits of the land. There, alone in the wilderness, he heard scattered and confusing murmurs, not nearly loud enough to be considered voices, and wondered in haze at the obscure messages they brought.

Sigyn found him soon enough, and led him back to the house - barely capable of hiding her worry behind a tired, chiding frown. Loki remained in his febrile state for many days, only drinking water and eating chicken broth; mumbling in his sleep nonsensical apologies. He spoke of his father and his brother, of forsaken relatives and lovers gone astray; alternatively cursing them and begging for their forgiveness. Sigyn watched his detachment from reality with strange passiveness, her little, pink nose wrinkling only slightly when names of both men and women alike graced Loki's lips in lustful despair. She cried only when out of his sight, and was adamant in not showing him her worry, fearing it would make him doubtful of his chances at survival. 

In his moments of lucidity, Loki was lost in a disquiet meditation; sitting day and night on the armchair of his living room and covered, from head to toe, by soft cotton blankets. He read sometimes, and played chess on his own, as thought battling an unknown, silent enemy. His weakened state made him bitter and insecure, and when fatigue allowed him to think correctly, he was purposedly cruel to hide it. He was proner to dark thoughts, as he had been in the days of his youth, and when he found something particularly upseting, he could spend weeks without talking. During his feverish dreams, he was visited by ghosts of the past; constantly tormented by the lives he took in his quests for glory; their vengeful hands clasping at his neck with a fury from beyond the grave.

Loki stared back at them without fear, torn between guilt and satisfaction - feeling the ravaging forces of good and evil silently battling inside him.

 


End file.
